


The Shadows We Lack

by fresh_heir



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Blood purity, Comforting Hermione, Disappointment, Draco Is Not Okay, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hermione helps, Hurt/Comfort, Sadness, Self-Hatred, Shadows - Freeform, Souls, nice ending, sad draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 04:54:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16469153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresh_heir/pseuds/fresh_heir
Summary: The soulless roamed without a shadow to signify existence. Who is truly deserving of one?





	The Shadows We Lack

**Author's Note:**

> This isn’t edited. I haven’t the time these days. Enjoy.

It is said that those without souls lacked shadows.

Draco didn’t believe in such tales. For days, weeks, perhaps his lifetime, he’d felt soulless.

Broken. Empty. Caged.

Yet in the presence of light, there it was: his shadow. Attached to him at his feet and extending beyond, allowing itself to be hosted by a soulless entity.

He used to think life needed to be fair. His blood was pure. His hair was blonde. His life… seemingly perfect. He deserved all of which he had received. He was groomed to stand tall in the face of public scrutiny, and he was the epitome of political poise and expertise. Every lesson was to be memorized. Every word was to be absorbed.

_Pureblood men do not cry, Draco. Pureblood men are not merciful, Draco. Remember your lineage, Dragon. You are better. Act better. Look better. **Be** better. _

Looking up into his distorted reflection, he pauses. His tears appear to halt in their tracks. He’s a pureblood man.

“Father would be disappointed,” he whispers. “Stop crying, Draco. Pull yourself together, Draco. Malfoys do not display weakness, Draco. Please… Draco.” He tries desperately to mask his heart. He grasps at his heartstrings, frantically caging how he feels. He isn’t allowed to think. To feel.

To breathe.

His nails are pulled down his skin, leaving angry red lines in the place of perfection. His tie and shirt lie in a forgotten heap on the floor next to his immaculately shined shoes. It isn’t enough. He still can’t seem to find any oxygen willing to grow acquainted with his lungs.

_Forget about her, Dragon. Your father would be none too pleased with this silly infatuation of yours._

A stronger ache ran through his heart. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

_Lucius’ cold stare penetrated the shields of his son. A storm raged behind the grey, and Draco knew he had ignited another flame._

_“What do you find so enthralling about the filthy_ Mudblood _that can’t be found in Pansy? Daphne? Astoria? I’ve come to believe you do these sorts of things just to anger me, Draco.”_

He didn’t like remembering that. His love wasn’t an act of rebellion. It wasn’t to be cheapened by the anger and that his father loved to direct at all but the truly deserving target that resided in his vanity’s mirror. She was pure. She made him think that perhaps he was right to have a shadow.

He was on the floor now. His head hurt. His heart cried. His life seemed to be crumbling right before his eyes, and no spell, curse, or magic taught to him by his dark peers would be able to reverse the effects of his name.

Just as he crumbled into a mess of uncertainty and despair, he heard the delicate footsteps of small feet against the stone floor of the Prefect’s Bathroom.

He didn’t need to move to know who they belonged to. His magic outstretched beyond the constraints of his body and sought the comfort only one could offer. As she placed a caring hand on the top of his head, leaning down for better access, he sighed.

Finally wrapped in her embrace, Draco cast his eyes behind their figures and acknowledge their intertwined shadows.

Only now he felt that he was deserving on his.


End file.
